


The Hunt

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [11]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, BAMF d'Artagnan, Dragon Riders, Gen, Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: D’Artagnan accompanies the Musketeer Guard on a hunt with the King, but when a group of assassins assails them, they become the hunted.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've written 131,000 words of this verse so far. 0.o Shoutout to 29Pieces for beta reading all of them!

It was a bright, late spring morning in Paris, a beautiful day with fair weather.

It could have been dreary and pouring rain and d'Artagnan's mood still wouldn't have been dampened one bit.

He surreptitiously crept up behind Constance where she stood at the kitchen counter and slipped an arm around her waist, tucking his head down to nuzzle her neck.

"Stop that!" she hissed, even as a giddy smile lit up her features. "My father could walk in at any moment."

"Your father has already gone out to tend the dragons," d'Artagnan murmured in her ear. He turned her toward him and pressed a kiss to her mouth.

She kissed back, running her fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots as she craved him as desperately as he did her. He pressed closer, pinning her against the counter, and drank in every sense of her—the softness of her skin, the scent of flowers mixed with a hint of musk that came from dragons.

Constance abruptly pulled away. "Alright, enough," she chastised with a lighthearted slap to his shoulder. "You're going to be late."

D'Artagnan grimaced; as much as he wanted to stay and bask in her company, he did have an assignment that he absolutely could not be late for.

Constance turned and grabbed a small sack off the counter. "Here, some lunch for your trip."

He beamed as he accepted it. "Thanks."

"Be careful," she added.

D'Artagnan flashed her a confident smile. "It's a royal hunt. I think it's the deer you should be worried about."

She rolled her eyes at him fondly and he grinned as he exited the house to make his way to the Musketeer garrison.

Once there, he found some of the musketeers already had their horses saddled and ready to go. He wasn't late, and the captain wasn't there yet, but he quickened his pace to enter the stable and retrieve his horse lest he be left behind. His friends had beseeched Treville to let him accompany the Guard on the King's hunt, wanting to give him as many opportunities to serve the King as possible in the hopes that Louis might take notice of him and he could finally receive his long-coveted commission.

D'Artagnan appreciated their efforts, even though they themselves wouldn't be coming along. Dragon riders didn't go on hunts, for their dragons would scare any game away, not to mention the forest could be difficult for them to navigate. The only exception was the captain, who always accompanied the King but left his dragon behind.

D'Artagnan made his way down the aisle to the stall where his horse was kept.

"Hey, girl," he greeted the brown mare, reaching over the gate to scratch her muzzle affectionately. She nickered in response, and he pulled half a carrot from his pocket to give her as a peace offering.

Since deciding to stay in Paris and become a Musketeer apprentice, d'Artagnan hadn't had much time for Beurre. But he couldn't bring himself to sell her as he'd done his father's horse, and his position hadn't yet been secured, so he knew he had to hold onto her, just in case. Captain Treville had graciously allowed him to stable her in the garrison—provided she be available for errands, to earn her keep since d'Artagnan couldn't afford to pay to stable her. It was a fair arrangement—more than fair—and the poor horse couldn't be left to stifle anyway.

But now d'Artagnan had a mission that brought horse and rider back together, and he was going to appreciate that too.

He led Beurre out of her stall and proceeded to get her saddle and bridle on. Around him, other musketeers were also getting their mounts ready, the stark blue of their cloaks standing out along with the fleur-de-lis on their uniforms. D'Artagnan had never felt out of place when with his friends but he started to feel so now. Even his brown mare looked more like a farmer's simple brood than the black Friesians with their tall bearing and long manes.

D'Artagnan quickly finished readying Beurre and led her outside where the others were waiting. Captain Treville had yet to come down, so d'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief that he would not be tardy.

"Have fun," Aramis's voice called out, and d'Artagnan turned to see him and Porthos sitting at the table under the captain's balcony.

He managed a smile in return and briefly moved away from his horse to join them. "Thanks again for pushing for Captain Treville to include me in the detail. I've never been on a royal hunt before. Sounds exciting."

Porthos shrugged. "If you call runnin' down little furry creatures excitin'."

"Sometimes it's a red deer," Aramis put in. "That makes for a lively chase."

"Only fer those allowed to participate."

Aramis smirked. "Yes. The King chases the deer and we chase the King. It's a merry run for all."

Porthos snorted in apparent disagreement.

D'Artagnan furrowed his brow slightly. "Anything else I should know before we head out?"

"Well—"

"Oh, let him find out for himself," Aramis interrupted with a devilish grin.

Sometimes d'Artagnan wondered whether his friends truly had his best interests at heart…or if they always strove to find the most entertaining way to simultaneously help him.

Porthos shrugged at d'Artagnan in response.

He didn't have time to press them further, for the door above opened and closed and the captain's boots clomped across the balcony as he made his way toward the stairs and down to the yard. His horse was already prepared, and he ordered those assigned to the day's guard duty to move out.

D'Artagnan hurried back to his horse and climbed into the saddle, then followed the troop out of the garrison and toward the palace.

To his dismay, they weren't to set off immediately on the planned hunt. An awning was being erected over a long table, and dishes and platters of food were being brought out. It seemed the King and his courtiers would be having an early lunch outside first, which meant the musketeers in attendance would be standing guard.

Treville disappeared into the palace, perhaps to confer with the King, while the rest of the men remained outside and waited. D'Artagnan stayed with his horse, giving her attention and sneaking her scraps from the lunch Constance had packed for him.

When King Louis and the courtiers came out to dine, the musketeers moved into formal positions a short distance away, far enough they could try to tune out the idle prattle of the nobles if they wanted. And d'Artagnan had to admit he found their conversation dull in the extreme. One of the courtiers was discussing a contemporary poet she was reading, which had sparked a debate on the merits of not only that particular author, but poetry in general. Louis, apparently, was not a fan.

D'Artagnan found himself missing his friends. He knew Aramis and Porthos could be counted on to fill the tedium with quiet commentary of their own. Often d'Artagnan found himself hard-pressed to maintain his strict composure.

It was hot under the sun and he felt sweat trickling uncomfortably down the back of his collar. He'd been counting on a day spent under the shade of trees, not standing around on parade while nobles had a feast under a canopy. He wondered if Aramis and Porthos had known about this.

"You should have brought a hat," Christophe teased under his breath.

D'Artagnan gave a small head shake. "Why does everyone under the sun insist on ribbing me about that?" he muttered back.

"Maybe because everyone is right and you're not," Joubert put in from d'Artagnan's other side. "You do realize the sun comes out most days."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "I worked a field every day of my life; I don't need a hat."

The two musketeers smirked, and then fell silent at a droll look from their captain across the way. D'Artagnan continued to smile on the inside though. He may not have been as close with some of the other men in the regiment, but he had friends among them.

When the meal finally concluded, the King stood from his seat and declared his eagerness to get the hunt underway. Four of the noblemen left their wives as they followed the King to where five horses were elegantly saddled and ready for them.

The Musketeers returned to their mounts, taking up positions around the party with Captain Treville at the head. A small group of attendants remained on foot and would have to keep up during the hunt, or hang back when the actual chase began. With a blow of the horn, the group kicked their horses into a canter and rode off into the forest.

They rode for a short ways before slowing their pace to allow the hounds and their handler to take the lead. The dogs bent their noses to the ground, weaving back and forth as the handler tried to keep their leashes from becoming entangled. It was ten minutes before they picked up a game trail, but the hounds switched between pointing north and south and barking at their unseen quarry.

"Which way is it?" Louis demanded.

"Seems to be both, Your Majesty," the handler replied. "Two fresh trails heading in opposite directions."

"Perhaps we should split up and see who can catch their prize first," one of the noblemen suggested, drawing his horse along the path headed south.

The King straightened in his saddle at the challenge. "Very well. I will take this one." He nodded north. "The first to make the kill shall blow three times on the horn."

He gestured for the dog handler to pass over one of the hounds to another attendant to take south with the courtiers while he turned to follow the northern trail. The musketeers, of course, stayed with the King. D'Artagnan wasn't sure it was an equitable division, four against one. But maybe the King wanted some time away from his fawning courtiers.

Or he was just that prone to pride.

The group parted ways, the hound taking the lead as it clambered over the ground in search of its quarry. But aside from picking up the trail to begin with, the dog wasn't giving any indication that they were closing in.

"Do not tell me we chose the wrong trail to follow," Louis groused. "I do not want to get beaten by a bunch of courtiers."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," the dog handler said contritely. "Sometimes the game trails are old."

D'Artagnan thought Rhaego probably could have found them fresh game. Of course, the dragon was also probably more likely to claim the kill for himself, which d'Artagnan didn't think would please the King very much. He found himself scanning the ground in search of tracks he might be able to decipher.

"Treville, can your men pick up a trail?"

"My men are here for your protection, Your Majesty," Treville replied. "They cannot break formation."

D'Artagnan immediately snapped his gaze back up, cheeks flushing hotly, though it didn't seem the statement had been a veiled rebuke directed at him. He almost volunteered to help with the tracking; he wasn't officially a musketeer, after all, so he wouldn't be breaking formation. And perhaps the King would appreciate the gesture and notice him. Especially if d'Artagnan could find him fresh game and beat the courtiers in the hunt.

Although, if he _failed_ to do that, it might garner him the bad kind of notice.

Besides, he figured that Captain Treville would not approve at all, and d'Artagnan could definitely feel the penetrating gaze Athos would be giving him if he'd offered, so he remained silent.

Louis let out a petulant sigh. "We are in the middle of the royal forest, Treville; there is hardly any danger. Save for my reputation should those annoying nobles catch their quarry first. Surely the Musketeers must protect _that_ as well."

The hound suddenly barked and started pawing at a bush. The handler bent down and reached under, pulling out a dead hare.

"Well, that is most disappointing," Louis said sourly. "Let's keep moving. Perhaps we can find another trail before the others catch up to theirs."

Treville was gazing at the animal carcass with a frown. "Your Majesty…"

The King's horse abruptly leaped forward with a startled whinny and bolted. D'Artagnan, who had been closest, immediately kicked his horse after him. The twang of something and shouts had him twisting in his saddle to look back. Some kind of snare netting had been triggered, shooting up from the forest floor and blocking the path of the rest of the Musketeer horses. The crack of a musket shot followed, and Christophe fell from his steed.

D'Artagnan had a split second urge to rear Beurre around and return to the fight…but the King was unprotected and he was the priority. So d'Artagnan forced himself to face forward and urge his horse faster, away from the shouts and shots sounding behind him.

He galloped between the trees, the King's horse directly ahead. Louis was shrieking as he held on tightly.

D'Artagnan bent low over his horse's neck as they came up beside the King, and d'Artagnan leaned out to snatch at the reins near the bit, using both his hand and the influence of his horse to bring the King's mount to a stop.

"Stupid animal," Louis berated under his breath.

D'Artagnan looked behind them, eyes widening in alarm as he caught movement through the trees, and they were not dressed in Musketeer blue. Someone shouted.

He immediately slid out of his saddle and moved to pull the King out of his.

"What are you doing?" Louis spluttered indignantly.

"We're under attack," d'Artagnan hurriedly explained. "We need to stay low and hidden." He pushed the King ahead of him, drawing his pistol and holding it at the ready. He cast a remorseful look at his loyal horse before giving her a slap on her flank and sending her and the King's horse the opposite direction. He could only hope they'd somehow make it back to the palace or garrison.

But he couldn't think about losing Beurre now.

Shouts had risen up at the horses' flight and the assailants were moving in. Louis threw d'Artagnan a harried look that was a mixture of confusion and terror.

D'Artagnan urged him forward, fleeing deeper into the forest with no idea just who exactly was on their tail.


	2. Chapter 2

The Musketeers, as professionally trained as they were, were in chaos. The horses that had been caught in the snares were bucking and stomping in an attempt to free their hooves from the lines of rope and netting while their riders fought to stay in the saddle and simultaneously shoot back at the invisible foes.

Treville whipped his gaze around the forest, spotting movement behind a tree. He aimed his pistol and fired, splintering some bark before hitting his target. A returning shot from another direction skimmed past his head and he instinctively ducked.

But their attackers were not breaking cover and swarming down on them with blades. In fact, aside from a few still shooting from behind the trees, Treville caught sight of several figures sprinting further into the woods.

He pulled back on his horse's reins, trying to back the animal up and away from the cluster of trapped soldiers. "To the King!" he bellowed.

But the King was no longer in sight, his horse having bolted before the snares were triggered, preventing his Guard from going after him. This was an ambush. The dead hare lay on the ground, trampled by hooves, and Treville had only a split moment for the bitter realization that it had all been a trap.

The attack on the musketeers themselves seemed to be waning, their true quarry having been successfully separated from the group. With musket balls no longer flying toward them, some of the men leaped from their saddles and began cutting away at the snares snagging their horses' legs.

"Hurry!" Treville barked.

"D'Artagnan got through," Christophe called out. "Right before the attack."

Treville turned and found his man clutching at his arm, blood staining the light brown leather. He gave a clipped nod in acknowledgement of the information. D'Artagnan was better than none, but he was just one man and not even officially a musketeer.

"Return to the garrison and get reinforcements," Treville told Christophe.

His soldier nodded staunchly and struggled to climb back on his horse, then turned to head back. The King's attendants hesitated before turning to follow. The rest of the men were finishing cutting through the snares, and Treville took the brief moment to reload his pistol. With their horses freed, they mounted up again to give pursuit.

The trail of the King's horse was clear to follow for a short ways. Based on the tracks, it looked as though d'Artagnan had been able to catch up to him. They didn't see any signs of the assassins, though they kept their guard up as they rode.

"There!" Joubert shouted and pointed.

The musketeers all turned to follow him, and Treville caught sight of the King's horse, along with the brown mare that belonged to d'Artagnan. Both were riderless. Treville kicked his steed forward to come up beside them, drawing the animals to a halt. He quickly scanned the saddles for signs of blood and thankfully found none. But that filled Treville with another kind of dread—suppose the attackers weren't assassins but kidnappers. Either possibility was disastrous.

"They might have abandoned the horses to go on foot," someone suggested.

"We can't know for sure," Treville replied tersely. He swung off his horse and snatched the reins of the King's horse, flipping them over the beast's head. "Can the hound get a scent of the King from the horse's tack?" he asked the dog handler, who had followed after them on foot.

"He can try," the man replied.

Treville nodded and let the man bring the hound over, holding the horse still as it turned skittish under the dog's attentions. After several long moments, the dog gave himself a sharp shake and turned to face northwest.

Treville mounted up again. "Let's go!"

He could only hope they wouldn't be too late to save the King.

.o.0.o.

Louis staggered against a tree, catching himself on the trunk as he bent double, breathing heavily. "Stop," he gasped.

D'Artagnan grimaced as he looked behind them. The woods seemed quiet, but they couldn't risk staying put for long. He regretted having gotten turned around in the initial mad dash, for the best course would be to head for the road or palace. Except the road could be just as dangerous, and the King was expected to be away all day on the hunt; search parties wouldn't be sent out until much later. Unless someone from the group went back to raise the alarm. But d'Artagnan didn't even know if they'd survived the onslaught he'd left them to.

"We need to keep moving, Your Majesty."

"We need to go back to the guards," Louis replied.

"Those men that attacked us are that direction," d'Artagnan respectfully pointed out. "We can't risk running into them first."

Louis straightened himself. "Now see here, I am the King and I say we need to return to the Musketeers, not keep running aimlessly through the forest until we're hopelessly lost!"

D'Artagnan focused on taking a calming breath. Underneath the petulant tone was a thread of real fear. Kings may face the threat of death at any given time during their reign, but they didn't live in a state of imminent danger; d'Artagnan could only imagine how Louis was feeling. He just needed to find a way to keep the King safe without earning his ire.

Shouts echoed in the distance and d'Artagnan stiffened.

"Is that Treville?" Louis asked eagerly.

D'Artagnan stepped in front of the King and pressed himself against the tree as closely as he could as he peered through the woods. He caught glimpses of movement, figures weaving between the trees on foot at a quickened pace. "I don't think so."

He whipped his gaze back to the King, who despite the rest still looked winded. They would not be able to maintain a harried speed for much longer. He craned his neck back and looked up.

"Climb the tree!" he urged, slipping his pistol onto his belt to have both hands free.

"What?" Louis squawked.

"It's our best chance," d'Artagnan hissed. He interlocked his fingers and positioned himself under a low branch. "Hurry!"

Louis looked reluctant, but as another shout echoed closer, he used the boost up and grasped clumsily at the tree. D'Artagnan pushed until the King was sprawled on his belly on the branch, then jumped to haul himself up after him. Once in the branches, he coaxed Louis into sitting up and moving to the next branch up so they could have more cover in the foliage. The King was trembling and whimpering, and d'Artagnan was struck wondering whether young Louis had never climbed a tree in his life. Perhaps it was frowned upon for royalty.

D'Artagnan got him settled in the crook of the branch and placed a finger to his own lips, silently pleading for Louis to get himself under control. The trampling of boots was coming closer and Louis mashed his lips together tightly in an effort to stifle his sounds.

Below them, several men entered their field of vision, rough men dressed in poor cloth and armed to the teeth with knives, pistols, and axes. D'Artagnan slowly moved his hand back to his pistol but didn't risk unclipping it and drawing attention. The men started to slow, and the one in the lead came to a halt directly beneath the tree.

"The tracks have disappeared!"

D'Artagnan held his breath, his hand tightening around the grip of his pistol. He'd have one shot from the branches, and he was trying to figure out if he could make the jump to the ground from this height without hurting himself so he could take the rest on with his sword.

"They must be trying to cover them," another assassin growled. "Split up and pick up their trail!"

D'Artagnan continued to keep his breathing shallow as he waited for the men to move on. Only once they were all out of sight did he release a shaky exhalation. He listened for a moment longer before cocking his head at Louis. "Come on."

The King shook his head jerkily.

"We can't stay here," d'Artagnan hissed. "We're sitting ducks if they figure it out. We can double back and try to find Captain Treville."

Louis still looked reluctant but at least started to unfurl from his position. D'Artagnan gripped his arm and helped him descend to the lower branch, then drop to the ground. The King's landing was less than graceful and he ended up in an ungainly sprawl. D'Artagnan slipped quickly off the branch and bent his knees to absorb the impact. Then he was snatching at Louis's arm and hauling him up, urging him to run back the direction they'd been fleeing from.

They barely made it a few feet before a large burly man came hurtling toward them. D'Artagnan pushed Louis out of the way and drew his sword, thrusting forward before the thug could draw his own weapon. But he had two friends on his tail, one with a rapier and another with an ax, that charged d'Artagnan before he'd gotten his own blade free.

He ducked a swipe at his neck and twisted around, yanking his sword up and slashing at one of the assailants. His blade clashed with the ax and the impact vibration rattled his arm, but he kept his grip firm and whipped out his parrying dagger in time to block a strike from the second man.

Then they noticed the King scrambling backward on the ground. The second assassin wrenched away and surged toward Louis. D'Artagnan locked his rapier with the first man's ax and drove his knee up into his groin. While he was doubled over in pain, d'Artagnan twisted and flung his parrying dagger through the air, skewering the other attacker between the shoulder blades. D'Artagnan then spun back to the ax man, jerking his blade free and running him through.

He whirled to Louis. "Run!" The sounds of battle would have surely drawn the attention of the rest of the group. D'Artagnan grabbed the King's arm and pulled him to his feet, pushing him forward again.

They bolted through the woods, the sounds of trampling foliage and blood roaring in his ears interfering with d'Artagnan's ability to hear their pursuers. He chanced a look over his shoulder, not spotting anyone immediately on their tail.

Then Louis tripped and with a yelp went crashing through some bushes and rolling down a concealed slope out of sight.

.o.0.o.

Athos slapped the bristles of the brush on the edge of a fence rail to clean them, then resumed scraping them across Savron's scales. The dragon arched his neck to give better access to his favorite spot, and Athos did a few extra brushes of that area. Savron rumbled in pleasure.

"Athos!" Aramis's yell echoed across the garrison yard.

Athos turned, his guard immediately up. He couldn't see what was happening, but Aramis and some other musketeers were converging on a figure who'd just come through the gate. He dropped the brush on the ground and strode toward them.

"What's happened?" he demanded, gaze sharpening on Christophe. The man was supposed to be on the royal hunt.

Aramis had seized his arm and was inspecting what looked like a musket wound.

"The King was attacked," Christophe said breathlessly. "Treville needs reinforcements to find him."

"Find him?" Etienne repeated in alarm.

"He was taken?" Athos asked, maintaining the calm composure of a lieutenant.

Christophe shook his head. "Separated from the rest of us. There was a trap of snares. D'Artagnan wasn't caught and may be with him. Treville and the others stayed to search and I came back for help."

"The ball went all the way through," Aramis reported.

"Get every horse and dragon saddled!" Athos ordered those near enough to hear. He caught the eye of the stableboy who was lingering in the yard. "Go fetch Doctor Lemay to patch Christophe's arm before we return. The King may well have need of him then."

"No," Christophe immediately protested. "I'm fine, and you'll need me to lead you to where we were attacked."

Athos gave him a considering look before nodding. "Then go to the palace and inform them what's happened," he amended to the stableboy.

"I need to rebind this before we head out," Aramis said, still examining Christophe's wound.

Athos nodded again and hastened back to the dragon den where the dragons had gathered in response to the urgent call.

"What's goin' on?" Porthos asked, already saddling Vrita.

"The King was attacked in the woods and is now missing," Athos replied as he strode past to retrieve Savron's tack. "Treville sent Christophe for reinforcements."

" _Missin_ '?" Porthos repeated. "In the woods?"

"With assassins after him."

Porthos's brows shot upward. "Alone? Athos…" He trailed off. Neither of them had to say what they thought of the King's chances being hunted down in the forest alone.

"D'Artagnan may be with him," Athos said. He hurriedly saddled his dragon, then grabbed Rhaego's saddle since Aramis was busy with Christophe.

Porthos ran a hand down his face. "We never should've sent him wit' them."

"And yet d'Artagnan may be the only protection the King has," Athos pointed out. The boy was smart. And skilled. If anyone could keep the King safe until help arrived, it was him.

Athos went to Rhaego's pen and gave the animal a stern look. "No funny business, or I will leave you here while Aramis comes with us to rescue the King."

The russet dragon narrowed his eyes but shuffled out and angled himself so Athos could put the saddle on and cinch it. He then turned and waited for the rest of the garrison to assemble with dragons and horses ready to go.

"The dragons won't be able to navigate the forest easily," he began, then turned to address the creatures. "Fly overhead and try to find the King from above. Or the assassins, and if you can pick them off, do so. The rest of us will go into the woods on horses."

The men gave staunch nods and began to mount up. Athos exchanged a look with Savron before his dragon took to the skies without him, the rest following suit. The musketeers rode their horses out of the gate and headed toward the woods. The entire regiment would descend on that forest, and God help those who stood between them and their King.


	3. Chapter 3

D'Artagnan clambered down the slope to reach the King. Louis was pushing himself up from the heap he'd landed in, spitting a clump of leaves and hair out of his mouth. More leaves were sticking out of the frizzy mess his hair had become and his clothes were rumpled and dirty. He made a distressed sound and reached for his ankle.

D'Artagnan dropped down beside him. "Your Majesty, are you injured?"

"My ankle—agh!" Louis's face twisted in misery. "I can't run anymore," he added desperately.

D'Artagnan tentatively reached out to touch the limb. Louis immediately hissed and tried to pull it away. They'd have to remove the boot to determine whether it was broken or sprained, but neither mattered because the result was the same—they were done running. D'Artagnan was going to have to make a stand, and if the assassins found them…well, he'd have to defend the King to his dying breath.

He swept his gaze around the area, then stood and scooped his arms under the King's. Louis yelped and protested but d'Artagnan half dragged, half carried him over to a large tree and settled him into a cleft between the roots. It was the best defensible position they had to work with. He then crouched down in front of the King and unclipped his pistol from his belt, pressing it into Louis's hands, along with the reload packets he had on hand.

"If anyone gets past me," he said gravely.

Louis's eyes were wide and he began shaking his head. "This can't be happening," he bemoaned.

D'Artagnan stood and drew his rapier, stepping to the side to press his back against the tree and stand guard. The woods had already silenced from the King's clamorous fall, so there would be no sudden hush to alert him that the enemy was closing in.

It didn't take them long.

A twig snapped and d'Artagnan straightened. Three men appeared, hardened faces fixed like granite with menace. Louis whimpered softly. D'Artagnan stepped away from the tree as they approached and drew his parrying dagger as well.

"We're only here for the King, boy," one of the men spat. "Step aside."

"No." D'Artagnan raised his blades and charged. The clash of steel rang throughout the forest as swords crossed. D'Artagnan kept himself from attacking with full abandon; he couldn't allow one of the men to get past him and take the King. So for every advance and thrust he made, he danced back two paces to keep all three men within his line of vision. It made him slower than he'd like, but his opponents soon realized they would have to go through him in order to reach their quarry, and they increased the intensity of their attacks.

D'Artagnan spun and pivoted, each blade meeting a different opponent as he blocked and parried. He managed to get past one's guard and stab them in the shoulder, but it gave another an opening to score a slice across his arm. D'Artagnan reeled back and retaliated with a flurry of strikes.

Then his rapier locked with one blade and he only had his parrying dagger to fend off the second, which left him wide open to the third coming at his right. D'Artagnan could only watch out of the corner of his eye as the man came at him.

A pistol shot cracked the air and the assassin fell with a cry. D'Artagnan couldn't spare a glance at the source and twisted out of the collision with the other men, spinning back around to cut the second one down. He had been hoping reinforcements had found them, but there was no battle cry of fierce musketeers coming to his aid, and it took all of his focus to continue dueling the last man standing. His heart sank as he caught sight of more mercenaries rushing toward their position.

His opponent drove him backward a few steps and d'Artagnan tripped, sprawling on his back. He threw his blade up to block a death blow aimed at his throat, deflecting the strike so that it skimmed his cheek instead. The assassin whirled his sword around to try again, and d'Artagnan flung himself to the side, rolling once before surging upward and driving his dagger into the man's side. Then he scrambled up and away to regroup in front of the King, who was fumbling to reload d'Artagnan's pistol.

A musket ball exploded part of the trunk above their heads and d'Artagnan instinctively ducked. His chest heaved as he clutched his weapons with a white-knuckled grip. They were outnumbered and outgunned…

A dragon shrieked overhead. D'Artagnan whipped his gaze up, desperate hope flooding his veins. The assassins faltered, turning their pistols skyward. Not that those piddly weapons would do anything against the silverback that was descending on their position, talons gripping the tops of the trees and thrashing the branches. They broke off like twigs under the dragon's might and Savron came crashing down to the forest floor, fangs bared and nostrils snorting steam. He screeched right in the faces of the men, who immediately screamed and turned tail to run. Savron let them go.

D'Artagnan sagged back against a tree. "I'm really glad to see you," he said breathlessly.

Savron gave him what looked like a calculating once-over before tipping his head back and letting out a throaty call. An answering one came from the sky.

D'Artagnan frowned at the riderless saddle. "Where's Athos?"

Savron cocked his head toward the south, and d'Artagnan could only guess that meant he was coming, so he thought it better to wait rather than hauling the King onto the dragon's back and trying to fly back to the palace. Louis had had enough frights for the day.

D'Artagnan still kept his weapons in hand, just in case any of the assassins decided to come back and brave the dragon, but by the occasional roars that echoed overhead, that seemed unlikely. It was a good fifteen minutes before reinforcements finally arrived, the Musketeer blue cloaks filling d'Artagnan with relief when he caught sight of them riding toward their position.

"Your Majesty!" Treville shouted, leaping from his horse and hurrying to the King's side.

"His ankle needs attention," d'Artagnan immediately reported.

Treville looked over, gaze taking him in for a moment before he gave a sharp nod that could have been part acknowledgement, part commendation.

"D'Artagnan," Porthos's voice boomed next, and a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Good to see yer in one piece. Not that I doubted it for a second."

Athos and Aramis came up behind him.

"Are you all right?" Aramis asked, scrutinizing him.

D'Artagnan shrugged tiredly. "Still alive." His gaze drifted over their shoulders and he straightened. "Christophe! I saw you fall…"

"I got back up," the other musketeer replied. There was a red-tinged bandage around his bicep. He nodded to d'Artagnan's arm. "Seems you got your own souvenir from this skirmish."

The sting of the sword slice on his arm made itself known now that the adrenaline of the fight was wearing off.

"Let's go," Treville called from where he and some other men had managed to get Louis into a saddle.

D'Artagnan broke into a wide grin when he spotted Beurre among the musketeer horses. He flinched as the movement pulled on the abrasion on his cheek, but it didn't dampen his mood. He walked over to greet his faithful steed. "Hey, girl."

The other musketeers were mounting up on horses as well.

"A good handful of men are still out there," d'Artagnan remembered.

"The dragons will take care of that," Athos replied, nodding to Savron, who took flight without his rider to rejoin the others in the air. "They'll scour the forest and herd the remaining assassins toward the rest of the regiment."

Well, that was good. As much as d'Artagnan might have wanted to help hunt the rest of those mercenaries down, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed.

He climbed up into Beurre's saddle and the group started to make their way back to the palace. They returned to a frenzied state of affairs, word of the attack having spread. The Musketeers had to escort the King directly to the door and see him safely within the palace walls, so d'Artagnan didn't separate in order to find that much-needed rest; he would see this duty through. Doctor Lemay was waiting in the foyer and immediately surged forward as Treville and Pierre helped Louis limp inside. Servants scrambled about to find a chair and bring it over so the King could sit.

Pattering footsteps heralded the Queen's harried arrival. She was pale and wide-eyed as she rushed to her husband's side, urgently asking Lemay how he was.

"A sprain, nothing more," Lemay assured them both.

The Cardinal swept into the foyer with a swish of his robes. "Your Majesty, thank God you have returned safely."

"Yes," Louis said with only a slight tremor in his voice. "Thanks to my loyal Musketeers."

Richelieu's eye twitched minutely. "These assassins will be hunted down and punished to the full extent of justice," he vowed.

"The Musketeers are already seeing to it," Treville put in.

The Cardinal gave a grudging nod. "Good."

The captain finally turned to his men and silently dismissed them. D'Artagnan slogged back out to his horse and pulled himself up into the saddle once more to make the short ride back to the garrison. Once there, Aramis directed both him and Christophe to the infirmary. Their wounds were minor and could be tended by the regiment's resident medic since Doctor Lemay would be occupied with the King for a while.

Aramis saw to Christophe first, and Athos took it upon himself to help clean the cuts d'Artagnan had sustained.

"You did well," the older man said.

D'Artagnan looked up at the note of praise in his mentor's voice.

"You acted with the full courage and honor of a musketeer," Athos added.

D'Artagnan couldn't help it, he beamed. Hopefully one day he would bear the name he'd worked so hard to uphold.

.o.0.o.

Richelieu entered his private prayer room and turned to the shadows expectantly. Milady stepped out from the darkness like an eidolon made manifest from the inky curtain clinging to the edges of her dress.

"I trust your journey back to Paris was uneventful," he said stiffly.

"Yes," she replied with the properly demure tone.

"Good."

It had been inconvenient not having her at his immediate disposal, and he hoped the distance from Paris and whatever vendetta she seemed to hold against the Musketeer Athos had diminished her previous rebellious tendencies.

"I have a task now that you are back," he went on.

"Oh?"

"One of the nobles has conspired to kill the King. I need you to deliver his sentence of eternal damnation."

"Why is he not being charged with treason?" she asked.

"There is no evidence of his involvement—yet. But it's only a matter of time before the hired assassins are apprehended and one of them exposes the Comte."

She gave Richelieu a simpering moue. "And such exposure could lead back to you?"

He shot her a sharp glower. "I would not make such a move against the King." He pursed his mouth in thought. "At least not without an heir to secure the throne. No, unfortunately, this witless oaf of a Comte thought he was doing _me_ a favor. He misconstrued a passing comment as a secret code that it was my will to see Louis out of the picture."

Milady arched a delicate brow.

Richelieu strode toward her. "So I need him to be silenced quickly."

She nodded and took a step back into the shadows that wreathed her like a velvet mantle. "It will be done."

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan smiled as Constance set a bowl of soup in front of him. "You don't have to fuss. I'm fine."

"I'm not fussing," she protested. "And you were almost killed."

D'Artagnan reached out and snaked an arm around her waist as she turned away, arresting her retreat. His expression sobered. "Are you…having second thoughts? About me. About loving a soldier."

Constance sighed and leaned her hip against the table. She raised a hand and trailed a finger lightly down the edge of the abrasion on his face. "I love _you_."

"But to marry…" he persisted. "There are safer men to have as a husband."

"That'd be rather boring," she huffed, but there was a glint of sincere concern in her eyes. "What would you do?" she asked seriously. "If you didn't become a musketeer?"

D'Artagnan's mouth turned down. It wasn't that he hadn't given it any thought; it was just that he hadn't found himself an answer. This was what he _wanted_ , more than anything. He couldn't live as though it wouldn't come true.

Constance gave him a sympathetic look. "That's what I thought."

D'Artagnan tightened his hold around her waist. "If I had to choose, between you and the Musketeers…"

She shook her head adamantly, cutting him off. "I wouldn't ask you to. I understand what that life entails. But it's part of who you are and why I love you." She leaned down to kiss him, and d'Artagnan once again marveled at how he'd ever managed to attain a love like hers.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Constance pulled back ruefully and went to answer it.

"Christophe," she greeted in surprise.

D'Artagnan stood up from the table and made his way over. The musketeer tipped his hat with his good arm, his other in a sling.

"D'Artagnan, your presence is requested at the palace."

He exchanged a startled look with Constance but grabbed his coat and slipped into it. "Do you know what it's in regards to?" he asked.

"Can't say," was Christophe's cryptic reply.

D'Artagnan flashed another look at Constance as he hurried to follow Christophe out. The musketeer said little on their trek to the palace, and d'Artagnan began to wonder if he was in trouble for something. He'd done his best protecting the King…was he being blamed for the injury Louis took?

His stomach began twisting into knots the closer they came to the palace. When Christophe led him into the throne room, he didn't know whether to be relieved or even more nervous at the sight of Athos, Aramis, and Porthos assembled in their uniforms and standing at attention along the wall. Captain Treville was there as well, looking stern as usual. D'Artagnan forced his head high as he approached the throne. The King and Queen were seated on the dais, a small stool placed in front of Louis to keep his ankle elevated. D'Artagnan bowed before them.

"D'Artagnan," the King began. "You defended me with great heroism in the forest. I admire loyalty, more than any other virtue."

D'Artagnan straightened with a surge of pride and sliver of eager anticipation.

"Please kneel," Louis went on, gesturing to the bottom of the dais.

D'Artagnan moved forward anxiously and knelt at the King's feet. Louis held out his hand expectantly, and Captain Treville drew his sword to pass over.

"I hereby commission you," Louis tapped the blade against each of d'Artagnan's shoulders, "into my regiment of Musketeers."

D'Artagnan couldn't hold back the shaky laugh of pure, unadulterated joy at the pronouncement. His heart was pounding and his palms turned sweaty. He almost couldn't believe it.

Athos stepped forward with a leather pauldron in his hands, which he fitted over d'Artagnan's arm and shoulder. He clapped d'Artagnan on the back before moving away again.

D'Artagnan looked down at the shiny, brand new leather with the fleur-de-lis crest, representing all of his hopes and dreams that were now suddenly within reach. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

"May you serve it always with the same distinction I witnessed that day." Louis nodded, and d'Artagnan slowly rose to his feet and stepped back with a bow. With a gesture, the King dismissed the assembly.

D'Artagnan turned to find Aramis had come up behind him, and he reached out to clasp his hand, but then couldn't help but hug the man, who from day one had gone out of his way to help d'Artagnan work his way toward this very moment. Aramis hugged back and patted him on the back. Porthos was next, the large musketeer chuckling with delight as he gave d'Artagnan an equally fervent thump.

Athos stood next to them, a rare smile gracing his features. D'Artagnan shook his hand.

"Well done, d'Artagnan," Treville spoke up. "I'm proud to have you under my command."

D'Artagnan clasped his captain's hand and shook it earnestly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

He was overwhelmed with emotion. Never had he felt such pride, such humbleness, such elation that he truly didn't know what to do with himself in that moment. Fortunately his friends seemed to notice, and Aramis slung an arm over his shoulders and started directing him out of the room lest he embarrass himself.

"Now you've got to work toward the rank of dragon rider," the marksman said. "Athos holds the record for how quickly he climbed the ranks. Let's see if you can beat it."

D'Artagnan shook his head, grinning giddily. Dragon rider was his long-term goal, but he didn't think anything could top what he was feeling in this moment. He was a musketeer. He was worthy.

And then his eyes lit up with the subsequent revelation of finally having his commission. "I have to tell Constance!"

His friends burst into understanding laughs.

Yes, this was one of the best moments of his life.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> Milady makes her final move against Athos and his friends.


End file.
